


Overcharged

by woodsong_1978 (Vae)



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-07
Updated: 2007-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/woodsong_1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some itches need scratched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overcharged

'Course, he'd never expected Sarge to be alone. Wasn't like what they'd had between them had ever been anything more than a quick fumble now and again. Touch of stress relief, feel of someone else's hand for a change. Someone's mouth. Hands shoving under clothing in an urgent moment of thank God we're both still alive, exhilaration of survival shared and celebrated with moonshine, caterwauling (and Sarge had always had a good line in caterwauling) and fucking. Had only been ever one time it had been more than that, night before Du Khang. The night Mal had looked into Tracey's eyes as he moved inside him, the night Tracey had looked right back and seen the pain and desperation and determination hidden inside Mal's soul. Seen the need beginning to birth, and that was the night Tracey had laid his plans to run. Not from the war. Not from Mal. From the hunger deep inside him that wanted to answer that need.

None of that explained the burning twist in his guts when he'd figured Mal had found himself a replacement. A man as unlike Tracey as he could imagine. Well, could be not a million miles off. Jayne had a practicality Tracey couldn't help admiring (and understanding more than he'd admit to anyone he was running the con on), along with a pretty ruthlessness and an air of danger. Given more time, Tracey might have made a move on the muscled merc himself, but the clock was ticking. Needed to get himself to a decent surgeon, transplant unit, get those borrowed bits out and something approximating his own back. He wasn't stupid enough to think his body could deal with the supercharge for a lifetime. Tick, tock. Plus, Jayne might as well have had a sign around his neck stating "property of the captain". Sure, he talked the talk at the girls, but his eyes went to Mal.

And Mal's eyes went right back.

So Tracey had turned his attentions on the pretty mechanic. Kaylee. Pretty name, pretty girl, straightforward as the day was long, and with an inclination to turn her eyes on him, long as he said the right words, kept her sweet. Mal would take his part from loyalty and times past, Zoë from loyalty to Mal, since it seemed there was another thing that never changed, Zoë's husband would follow her lead (like there was any man wouldn't) and Jayne would follow Mal. Grousing and reluctant, but he'd do it. Tracey didn't make much account of the Shepherd, never had much time for preachifying, and the doctor seemed timid as a shy mouse soon as you pushed him beyond medicine. The Companion was a whole other world of complex, and the girl... Was just something about her set hairs tingling on the back of Tracey's neck. He'd learned through enough times to pay attention to those hairs. He steered clear. Kaylee, though, Kaylee would respond to the flowery words and the sideways glances enough to come round to his way of thinking.

Least, so he thought, until a familiar hand latched onto his arm, dragged him out of the dining area and through into the passage, pushing him back against the wall. Tracey looked down at the hand, memories surfacing of other occasions when it had closed on various interested bits of his anatomy, and then up, slowly, to meet Mal's eyes. Blue-gray of a summer storm, heat and fury and power, and gorramn if that weren't as hot as ever it had been. "Like old times, huh?"

"You lay off of my mechanic." The voice was low, rutting close on a growl, and that still did things to Tracey's spine that shouldn't be allowed. Halfway between melting and curling up, thrill of risk and knowledge and memory, fire lighting in his belly, flames licking through his veins, sparking the unsuitable urge to laugh.

Which he did, of course, breathless chuckle that was almost a dare, head leaning back against the wall. "Sure, Sarge. Got a claim on her, too?"

The hand tightened, fingers pressing folds of fabric into his flesh. "Ain't always about bedding down with someone, Private. Though it ain't like you ever could wrap your mind 'round that notion, is it?"

"Never knew there was a need for more," Tracey agreed. After all, wasn't like Mal had ever offered more, and Tracey had just kept on running ever since. "But a man's got needs, Mal. Itches needing scratched. If you're following me. And since you ain't gonna be scratching at them..." He let the sentence trail off, words hanging in the air between them like a dare.

It wasn't Mal that answered him, though. The wall shuddered as a heavy weight collided with it, and a bigger, rougher hand fastened onto his other arm. Tracey froze, swallowed hard, eyes fixed on Mal's face. He'd enough brains to know that Mal's lover wasn't a man to cross, 'less you'd either got time to plan, or wanted to end up in bitty pieces pushed through something designed to turn a man into a pile of mushy nothingness.

"Now, little rabbit, he ain't said he ain't gonna be scratching. Don't recall anything along those lines. You recall saying that one, Mal?"

Mal's lips curved in a slow, feral smile, flashing smooth, even teeth. Tracey's breath hitched in his throat, mouth drying, gaze caught by those teeth, body reminding him that, yeah, he'd always reacted to the feel of them. "Hope you're feeling real itchy, Tracey. I ain't a solo deal these days."

Tracey's last thought, before somehow the wall behind him disappeared and got replaced with a wall of muscle, before big hands took hold of his hips, before a hot mouth claimed his own and the sensation of being surrounded overwhelmed him, was that he was going to get a lot of scratching.

He'd always had a fondness for getting scratched.

**Author's Note:**

> Firefly and the characters shown here are the property of Joss Whedon, FOX and Universal. I make no claim of ownership. I make no profit.
> 
> Thanks to wildannuette for beta reading.


End file.
